


The path less travelled by

by Myra_Bones



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Dark Harry, Evil Harry, Gen, Pureblood Politics, Pureblood Society, Slytherin Harry, Tags to be added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-07
Updated: 2017-02-07
Packaged: 2018-09-22 16:15:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9615584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Myra_Bones/pseuds/Myra_Bones
Summary: Harry Potter grows up like he did before. Except, instead of becoming the meek little Gryffindor to survive, he becomes the cunning Slytherin. And this leads to a very different universe than the one we've come to expect.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: nothing you recognize belongs to me. This fanfic is purely a work for my own and possible others' enjoyment. I do not make any profit for this in any way. 
> 
> Tags to be added later. A note will be at the beginning of the chapter if a tag is added that could possible be triggering.

The first time Harry learned that this world held rules, and that these rules were reinforced, he was four. He had accidentally broken one of Dudley’s toys – though what he did not know was that it had already been broken – and had been sent to the living room while the Dursleys held their dinner.

That night he found the lock of the cupboard door unlocked and, as hungry as he was, he creeped out as silently as he could to the kitchen, where he hungrily grabbed some of the leftovers and scurried back to his cupboard to eat them in large bites.

The crumbs were what got him caught, he supposed.

And in the morning, when the Dursleys found their food missing and found the crumbs in his cot, he was punished. Hard. He was sore for a week from the feeling of Uncle Vernon’s belt, and they made sure the keep the cupboard locked at night. He went hungry for a week for his transgression. 

And this is where two paths split for him; two ways for his life to go. In another universe, he was cowed by their aggression and did everything he could to ensure they did not get angry at him again. He was meek and malleable and would one day become the perfect little Gryffindor. He would do everything he was made to do and, when the day came, would eagerly sacrifice himself for the world that had given him everything. 

This was not the path his life took. 

Instead of become meek, he became silent. Instead of cowed, he became cunning. He was smarter about everything; about what food he took, and when. He made sure to stay in the background, always learning and observing with bright green eyes. When he went to school he stayed his lunch breaks in the library and read absolutely every book he could get his hands on. 

While everyone around him saw the quiet, studious boy he portrayed, or the meek and obedient boy he showed at ‘home’, he learned. He learned every subject taught to him and more; learned about the way the world worked, and how people worked. He learned how to stay in the shadows, both figuratively and literally. He learned when to be seen, and when not be seen.

The first time he got his hands on a copy of Sherlock Holmes, a switch flipped in his minds. Here were two people, nearly identical, on opposite sides of the battlefield. One chose to side with the ‘angels’, to be everything he was meant to be and more, and one defied what the world told him to be, and became their undoing instead.  
Sherlock Holmes and Professor James Moriarty. 

Moriarty was the embodiment of choice and individuality, in his opinion. He was a genius, and everyone always expect a genius to become a scientist, or a politician, or something else with an equally impressive title. And that’s what he did; he became a professor. The sign of intelligence and kindness, in the eyes of the world. The ultimate profession for a genius. 

Especially if said genius wanted to hide his second, much less legitimate, profession. 

Moriarty wore two masks, which he donned whenever he could or should with the ease of someone changing their clothes. One mask was the gentle and kindly professor that he was to everyone he met; the one was smart, frighteningly so, but never came across cocky. He was always willing to help. 

The second was colder. It was the mask worn by the Master of the criminal underground in London. The mask worn by a sadistic genius. Worn by the man who took down Sherlock Holmes and anyone in his path with an efficiency not achievable by anything in the world.

And Harry was sure neither of the masks truly represented what he was. 

Because that’s the thing about a mask; once you wear one, you can never take it off. You can replace it, you can change it, but once you’ve decided to close yourself off to the world, taking it off is a near-impossible task.

But that day, when he finished the copy of Sherlock Holmes and showed up to his maths class an hour late, Harry James Potter donned his first mask. And when he sat in detention later that day, relentlessly bullied and laughed at by Dudley (who, incidentally, was also in detention), his cold mask remained in place. He refused to let anything or anyone affect him. 

Ever again.


End file.
